


Rag Water

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug sexy times, Frottage, M/M, Marijuana, Shotgunning, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean snaps and finds solace in illicit substances, sharing them with his little brother leads to more than he expected. Shotgunning Weecest with frottage, for my darling Kate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rag Water

Dean had a job a few towns back in a crappy diner, he was supposed to be waiting tables but he ended up cleaning mostly. There he found the only thing he could relate to was the dirty mop water, greying and full, spilling over the sides to anyone who would notice. 

His dad had turned to alcohol when he snapped, but for Dean that seemed too typical. 

He had been drinking out the back of the high school when a new opportunity presented itself, though, the flask burning against his lips, the alcohol slurring though his veins, when he looked up and saw three boys his own age passing something between them. 

They all knew Dean Winchester, it was hard not to in a school that small, and they happily passed their joint over to him when he joined their circle. 

Dad didn’t really notice anything was different when he got home, Sammy did though. 

Sammy always noticed, was always there to wipe up his dirty mop water even though he was all of fourteen years old. 

After their dad had left for the bar, Sam climbed up next to him on the couch, coltish body lengthening against Dean’s side. 

“You smell funny.” Sam told him. “Smoky,” he added, clarification, not-quite-knowledge of what Dean had in his system. 

It was wearing off though, the buzz fading, the happiness oozing out of him, drained. 

He had more. 

“I smoked something,” Dean answered. “I’m going to have some more.” 

Sam looked dubious, smart kid. 

It had to be the weed that let the next line slip out of his mouth, 

“You can try some if you want?” Dean offered, pulling the baggy out of his pocket and placing it on the table, delicate. 

It sat there for a moment as Sam scrutinized it, probably knowing what it was.

After another beat Dean kicked into action, sitting up from the couch to go to the kitchen, grabbing a mostly-clean bowl and some scissors, heading back over to Sam to prepare. 

“It’s marijuana, right?” Sam asked in a small voice when Dean began cutting, and he tried not to slow his rhythm as he nodded. He felt apprehensive somehow, like Sam was going to be disappointed in him. 

“Okay,” He answered Dean’s nod and sat back on the couch, going for relaxed, his white-knuckle grip on the seam of his jeans betrayed his nervousness though. 

Dean pressed the finely chopped leaves into a crisp, white rolling paper, licking over the edge and pressing it together into – okay, not the _best_ joint in the world, but functional. 

The same lighter that had seen a ghost put to rest last week flared the tip into cherry-redness, and Dean sucked gently until smoke had filled his lungs. He held it, looked over at his brother who seemed mesmerized by the movement, and the blew it out slowly, let it flow over his lips and down his chest until it dissipated. 

He debated passing the joint to Sammy, found his body taking in another slow drag and then crooking his finger at his little brother, beckoning him closer, parting his lips in invitation. 

Sam seemed to get the memo, coming in closer and opening his mouth a little too wide as Dean blew the smoke down his throat, watching his lungs fill through his skinny chest. 

He coughed a little and then settled, eyes glued to Dean’s fingers where the ash of the joint was spilling. Dean took another drag and Sam scooted forward again, plush lips trusting. 

It wasn’t long before the joint was gone, Dean flicking it into the bowl and then laying down on the couch next to Sam, slotting their bodies together. Sam was pliant and loose, his eyes hazy where they were stuck on Dean’s features. 

“Feels nice,” Sam commented, and Dean nodded, adjusting his hips and feeling his brother’s thigh fall between his legs. He hadn’t even realized he was half hard until his cock pressed into Sam’s body warmth and he groaned breathily. 

Sam kept his eyes forward, unfocussed. 

“Is this okay?” Sam asked softly, Dean nodded unthinkingly, pressing his own thigh to where Sam’s hips were rocking minutely. He whimpered slightly when the friction was introduced, and Dean couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked, how calm and soft and _pretty._

Dean absently brushed his lips against his brother’s again, causing Sam’s hips to jerk into his thigh, his own leg pressing against Dean’s steadily hardening cock. 

It was a push-pull of pleasure, lips open and gently moving, hips rocking unhurriedly. Sam was breathing a steady stream of _Dean_ ’s into his mouth, and Dean inhaled his own name and let his hands rest on Sam’s waist, guiding his movements lazily. 

Something inside him told Dean he should _stop._ He had gotten his baby brother high and was now molesting him or something, and his disgust was building with himself, which was shattered suddenly when Sam’s hips jerked sporadically and a low groan fell from his throat, dampness bleeding onto Dean’s thigh. 

Sam had come, and that thought alone made Dean’s rhythm falter and then speed up, his orgasm crashing over him slowly in different waves that made his chest heave and his body writhe. Sam held him through it, his lanky body comforting, his breath weed-heavy and his eyes still hazy. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean told him softly. 

“S’alright,” Sam replied, nudging Dean’s thigh with his own. “I can wash ‘em in the morning.” 

Dean wanted to explain that he wasn’t talking about ruining Sam’s jeans, he was talking about all of it, the drugs and the sex and the ruining of his little brother’s life. 

But Sam was kissing the side of his face and pressing the on button of the television, so Dean decided to leave it until he spilled over again.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back to writing fanfiction, sorry for the crappy induction! Any prompts after this welcome. This work was also posted on my new tumblr, talktopoppy.tumblr.com


End file.
